Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

76. Reunion

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"Elevator 333 departing for Wrath in five minutes. All aboard."

A small throng of demons entered one of the elevators in the terminal at the sound of the announcer's voice, and Striker stood from the bench where we were seated and slung our luggage over his shoulder. He turned back to me and slipped a hand under my arm to help me to my feet.

"I'm fine, Striker," I told him, pulling his arm away and giving it a small pat. "Here, I can carry my backpack."

"No, ma'am," he said, adjusting the straps of both my backpack and his case on his shoulder. "Still not a good idea for you to be carryin' a bunch of stuff."

"It's just my backpack, hon," I responded, sticking my hands in the pockets of my jeans. "And it's not like I loaded it down with bricks."

"Kinda feels like it," he remarked.

I rolled my eyes. "That's only because I packed some first aid supplies — y'know, in case you get hurt during the games."

Striker smirked at me as we passed through the threshold of the elevator. "Darlin', I highly doubt we're gonna need any of that. I've always come out of these games pretty much unscathed. At worst, my clothes get all muddy."

"Well, I didn't pack the washer, so don't get them too dirty," I quipped.

He chuckled in amusement, leading us to a bench against the wall opposite the elevator's double doors. There was only one seat left open, and he gestured for me to take it. I sat down on the cramped bench, holding my tail close to my body, while Striker stood directly in front of me and curled a hand around the metal bar above our heads.

A few minutes later, a bell tone played over the speakers, and the mellow voice of the announcer echoed through the terminal: "Elevator 333 now departing for Wrath. For your safety, please stand clear of the doors."

The elevator jerked into gear, causing me to lurch forward. Striker stuck his leg in front of me and grabbed my arm before I could fall out of my seat, fixing me securely on the bench while the elevator descended.

"If I recall correctly, this happened last time, too," he mused with a humored grin.

My belly stung from the sudden movement, but I ignored it and half-smiled up at Striker, saying passively, "Well, the actual last time, I didn't have you to catch me."

Striker's grin quickly dissolved, morphing into a small scowl, and he looked away for a moment. When his eyes fixed their gaze back on me, they were a bit softer, a twinge of guilt making itself evident in that bright yellow glow. "Did you fall?"

I shook my head. "No," I replied. "I was standing, so I held onto the bar the whole time." I brought a hand to my stomach. "But fuck, did it hurt when I caught myself. . ."

Striker reached out a hand toward me, but stopped, his eyes leerily shifting side to side. He clenched his jaw when he apparently noticed something (or someone) and retracted his hand, gripping the bar above him.

We rode in silence for the next minute or two until we heard over the loudspeakers: "Elevator 333 arriving at Wrath. Please stand clear of the doors until the elevator has come to a complete stop."

Striker placed a hand on my shoulder in anticipation as the elevator roughly came to a halt, keeping me planted in my seat. When the large double doors opened, he helped me stand and loosely grasped my arm to ensure we wouldn't lose each other in the crowd, and we made our way through the terminal to the front entrance.

A gentle autumn breeze greeted us outside the terminal, the morning sun shining brightly in our eyes. Striker pulled down the brim of his hat and scanned our surroundings before flagging down an old blue pickup truck. The pickup sputtered to a stop on the side of the road, and out of the driver's seat hopped a familiar middle-aged imp. He smiled in recognition when he saw me.